The Call to Victory

[Reece Nolan 996]

The Call to Victory

Written by Hraaken Underhammer,

To every living descendant across Arcas.

 

[Music]

 

 

     Where the Dwarves rest did a lone candle streak through the inky darkness. No forge was lit, no hammer rung, only blackness occasionally interrupted by the dim glow of bubbling magma below. An armored figure marched up the winding spiral of Kal-Evraal barely illuminated by the flicker of a lit wick. Shortly after did Hraaken Underhammer finally arrive in the clergy hall where a few other lit candles welcomed his own. As he entered the main chamber, Hraaken could see the High Preceptor passed out at a desk to his right, buried in parchments and books detailing the gods and times of old. To Hraaken’s left, Kazrin the Brown sat silently regarding him as the rest of the city slept restlessly, their uncertainty resounding through the quiet caverns. Hraaken then moved to pass the cave dwed, taking in details such as a newly forged axe by Kazrin’s side, and a few open books in front of him. He wondered whether the sage-like Starbreaker he saw was reading multiple books at once, he wondered what purpose such a person would have to be up while the rest of the world lays uneasy in their beds. Regardless, he continued on and left Kazrin to his work. Hit footfalls echoed to the shadowy back end of the library where he quietly took a seat on one of the wooden chairs, a small creak coming from under his armored weight. He took off his helmet and set it aside, the blackened glass inside metalwork faintly reflecting his candle as he passed the flame on to a few more candles at the table. There Hraaken sat, unfurling a blank parchment and beginning to scribe away at a document with enough power to potentially shape the future into a new fate.

 

     ”In this message, I wish to address all living descendants on Arcas. You may not know me, I am an Underhammer, a dwarf belonging to an old race, an old family of wise and unshakable workers. In my time on this land I have come to learn that despite those who are sun stricken being assailed by the light, they lead happy lives. They have families as I do, they have cultures, they have values, they have dreams and ideals they wish to hold to the end of their days. Countless others before me have wrote tales and recorded history, and I intend to believe that countless others after me will continue to do so. There are warriors of men, mothers that hold their children dear, there are lovers that embrace each other even during this perilous time. All of it would be for naught should we lose it all to the spawn of Khorvad. That being said I do not make this letter to bring yet another scroll of sympathetic dread to your doorstep, as I have heard of the mighty heroes across our many lands and realms of old. I have heard of the might of Kjell, I have read the wisdom of elves past, I have seen the will of Humans, the ferocity of Orcs. I have seen what occurs when all descendants band to together, they write history so strong that even the book recording their actions trembles at the raw power of change. I write this to all living descendants reluctantly, as it is not my place as a simple elder to ask for this. I am no king, I am no emperor, and I am no leader, but I am calling for every last one of you to band together once again to bring forth the tides of change to our history books.

 

     To that end, I will be gathering a small force including my son and grandson to travel to each of your major cities and discuss actions to be taken against the incoming threat. There is no where to run this time, there is no city to abandon this time. It is do or die, we have no time to bicker among each other over wrongdoing or one’s honor. What matters is that we win for those who have fallen as well as those who have not yet had time to enjoy the world of the living. I urge any nation leaders that may be reading this document to band together with your neighbors despite your differences, for they can be settled afterwards once we have ensured a future for us all. To reinforce this claim, I have already gathered workers to produce the resources necessary to fortify the lands with which our final stand will take place. I do not wish to win, I wish to beat them back into their hole, a total call to victory.”

 

     – Thane of Century Omega II and Clan Elder, Hraaken Underhammer

 

     With his document done did Hraaken rise from his seat, quietly push in his chair, and make to the exit of the clergy hall in haste for there was work to be done. As he proceeded past the tables where Norli slept, Kazrin still sat reading away as if sleep were not a concept applied to him. Hraaken gave him a solemn nod as he left, regardless of whether he noticed. It was only then did Hraaken come forth to endure the Endless Toil yet again as he ventured back down the spiral of Kal-Evraal’s walls. His footsteps again being the only disturbance to the snoring of countless dwarves in their homes. As he drew near the Underhammer clan hall, he passed his parchment to a figure hooded and cloaked like the dark itself before letting them walk out of the city into the night to spread his word in good faith. Soon after Hraaken returned to the small forge in their hall and unstrapped his armor to reveal his tree trunk arms with valleys of gray muscle rippling across. He would grab a hammer and continue to shape the Gorix-Az on the anvil in front of him as he prepared for war.

[Titanium430 578]

Gorm Underhammer, Grandson of Hraaken. Lugs a cart of ore from deep within the earthen mines of the dwarven folk, looking down to the ground for a moment as he reaches the top of the tunnel before receiving the letter from a nearby worker, offering naught but a humble nod as he reads it over, him tucking it into a small pocket on his shirt. then continuing the endless toil as he goes back to work, once more entering the deepest depths of the world.

[AfroJoeTheOlogBro 1095]

Murdok’Lak sits around the campfire near the blarg’s of his home, San’Azgahk, when the hooded figure arrived, handed the letter, and left as silently as he had come. The goblin read over it slowly, gnawing away at his pipe idly as he read the script ”Well now......mi haz been blahin zimilar for awhile, but it iz nub zo eazi tuh put azide zuch differenzez dat run az deep az blud agh earth. But, it iz tik wi all rallied, we kan nub allow duh Korvazza tuh have fallen in vain” The Swampgoth then folded up the letter, tucking it into the large turtle shell he wears upon his back.